


Those Lazy Hazy Crazy Days of Summer

by Cadensaurus (orphan_account)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, plus a dog :), pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 18:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9619100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Cadensaurus
Summary: Just a day in the life of Dan and Phil, after they've moved into a house and gotten a dog, one summer afternoon when everything is slow and soft and quiet.





	

It's a lazy morning. It's summer, the temperature hot but not humid and they're lounging around their living room in their boxers, flicking through the channels. It's been two months since they moved into their new home and they're still adjusting after living in the London flat for so long.

The air is still, no wind blowing, and the sun passes through the shades, gleaming off the wooden surface of their living room floor.

Dan settles on a channel, slumps down a little into a crease in their new sofa. Already, he's trying to get the perfect mush position for browsing on his laptop. They were both vaguely amused and vaguely worried at how dented their old sofa was from their terrible posture when they sold the flat.

A few minutes later, Phil let his hand stray over to Dan's thigh and stroke it, and Dan hums a small noise and closes his eyes. “Hi,” he mumbles, and Phil smiles, rests his hand there for a minute, then on an impulse, slides his hand up to Dan's waist and tickles him gently, until Dan squirms and laughs and shoves Phil's hand away.

“C'mon, we're relaxing. No working me up with tickle fights.” Dan slurs out sleepily. Phil concedes, and pulls his hand back. A few minutes later, Dan's head lolls to the side and Phil reaches for a pillow, arranges it under Dan's neck and Dan mumbles something that could be a thank you, could just be sleep talk.

Phil watches the telly in relative silence, aside from Dan's breathing, which is heavier when he sleeps, not full out snoring, but loud and long enough for Phil to know that Dan is fully asleep.

A few minutes later and he hears the clack of nails on the floor entering the room, and he cranes his neck to see their year and a half old German Shepherd/Collie cross, Griffin, all black and brown with a big white patch on his chest and a smaller spot on his belly, come into the room.

Phil clicks his tongue and pats the surface next to him and Griffin comes over, hops up on the couch, lies down in a circle, his head resting against Phil's leg, and Phil rests one hand on his head, his other hand lazily playing tangles into Dan's hair, and he closes his eyes.

He drifts in and out of consciousness, half-hearing the show, half-snoozing, and a few hours pass that way, until he wakes up because he has to pee and he's getting hungry.

His movements don't wake Griffin, but they do wake Dan, and Dan pushes himself upright, rubs his eyes. “How long was I asleep?” He asks. The sun has shifted, angled itself differently into the room, and it's approaching three in the afternoon.

“Few hours, I was kind of out of it too. Want me to make us some lunch and then we can go to the dog park with Griffin?” Phil asks, pausing on his way to the bathroom.

“Yeah, just sandwiches or something easy. I'm not really in the mood for anything gourmet.” Dan says, reaching over to scratch Griffin behind the ear. In his sleep, the dog's tail wags briefly, then settles, and Dan flips off the television, since they're clearly not watching it.

Thirty minutes later, they've eaten cheese sandwiches and done the meager washing up, and they've changed from pyjamas to clothes for the day, and Dan's searching for one of Griffin's balls, which is always a process because he likes nudging them under surfaces like couches and beds and anywhere else dark and unseen, and he finally finds one, in the laundry room, stuck between the wall and the washer. He pries it out and shows it to Griffin, who perks up and follows Dan around the house while Phil gets his leash.

The dog park is only a ten minute walk from where they live, so they don't have to take Dan's car, and Griffin wags his tail with every step he takes under the warm sun, and the heat is dry, not sweat-inducing, and they both wear sunglasses to keep the sun out of their eyes.

Phil's got special sunglasses that act as regular glasses so he can see properly, while Dan has a pair of obnoxiously bedazzled sunglasses, tiny crystals around the frames and along the temples. Griffin keeps glancing back at Dan, who is holding the ball in his hand, and it's obvious the dog is eager to play.

Their hands brush each other as they walk side by side, and they make small talk about the shops they're passing, the people walking, and then they cross the road over to the dog park, where there's about half a dozen people with their own dogs.

There's a walking path and an open field and they head for the open field, letting Griffin off his leash, where he runs ahead of them, tail wagging, running headfirst to another dog to sniff and interact, until Dan whistles and Griffin comes running back, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Dan holds up the ball and Griffin jerks to a stop, sitting and thumping his tail on the ground, staring intently, and Dan rears his arm back, lets the ball soar, and Griffin twists and is on it instantly, running so fast that when he hit the ball he actually tumbles a bit and has to get back on his feet.

Then Dan whistles again, and their dog comes running back with the ball in his mouth, but when Dan reaches for it, Griffin squeezes tighter on the ball in his teeth.

“Come on, let it go,” Dan urges him, tugging at it, and Griffin fights him for a minute more before finally loosening his jaws, and Dan makes a face at the dog slobber all over the ball, chucking it again as far as he can.

Phil watches, sitting on a bench a few feet away, as Dan throws the ball for about fifteen minutes with Griffin nonstop, until finally, Griffin comes back and drops the ball at Dan's feet, panting heavily, lying down.

Dan wipes the ball off on the grass and comes over to where Phil's sitting. “I think I tired him out a little, huh?” and Phil smiles.

“He's in better shape than you are. You can't run fifteen minutes straight.”

“Shut up,” Dan says, no malice in his voice. He reaches over and laces his fingers with Phil and squeezes, rubbing his thumb over the top of Phil's. “This year has been pretty good to us so far.”

“Yeah, it has,” Phil agrees. He watches Griffin for a minute more as the dog seems to regain his breath and energy, and gets back on his feet, and trots off towards the other dogs nearby, sniffing and barking a little, and a moment later, he's playing some kind of tag with a little white Scottish Terrier, playfully snapping and letting out low ruffs, letting the terrier catch up to him and then twisting around and chasing the terrier back to its owner.

They let that go on for about five minutes, and then whistle again, calling his name, and he turns to look at them, standing still, as if to say, _five more minutes, please?_ , but they're insistent. It's too hot for him to be out for very long without water, and he comes, tail wagging less, disappointed.

Phil clips the leash back on him and they head home, Griffin walking at his side now, his energy reserves burnt out for the time being, still panting a little, and when they get home and unclip him, he heads straight for the water bowl, lapping it up with sloppy gulps, and it's almost empty when he finishes.

“What do you want for dinner?” Dan asks. “I don't feel like cooking, I was thinking takeout.”

“Chinese?” Phil says back, going to refill Griffin's water bowl and grabbing his container of food, pouring half a cup into his food dish. They feed him three times a day and they actually missed his lunch feeding, so he's sure Griffin is hungry, and the dog sticks his head in the bowl and starts chowing down immediately.

“Yeah, that works. What do you want to do for the rest of the night?”

“I dunno. Play a video game or something, maybe? We could film a new gaming video. Actually be productive at some point today,” Phil says with a smile. Dan offers back his own grin.

“Yeah, that could work. I'll edit it tomorrow and post it in a couple of days.” Dan agrees. “They're still clamouring for us to play Monopoly. Think we should do it? Chop it up into half hour segments and upload them one at a time?”

“Only if you promise not to be a sore loser or a braggart if you win. You're obnoxious.” Phil tells him dryly and Dan's grin grows cheekier, even as he ducks his head in shame.

“I promise,” Dan tells him. “Go on then, order the Chinese. You know what I like, I'm going to find a good game to play for the gaming channel.”

So they part for the first time that day, Dan heading into their office with the desktop computer, Phil sitting down in the kitchen with a Chinese takeout menu, flipping through it, and after he orders, he sits there, just absent-mindedly thumbing through apps on his phone.

He's at peace, he's at home and it's finally starting to feel like a home, their knickknacks rearranged and on bookshelves and dressers, new furniture, new dog, new house, new life, and he loves it, and he's in love with Dan, and he's got a little black velvet box with a ring hidden away in his bedroom that Dan doesn't know about, but he's planning on surprising Dan with it one day soon enough, and he knows what Dan's answer will be, and Phil thinks his life is about as perfect as it can get.

 


End file.
